


Charles Xavier’s Cacti Collection on Erik Lehnsherr’s Gay Socialist Farm Island

by InsertSthMeaningful



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Charles Xavier's Cacti Collection, Erik Lehnsherr's Gay Socialist Farm Island, Honestly they deserve to be happy for once, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Dadneto to fix XM:DP's fuck-up, Post Paris Chess Proposal, Post-Canon, X-Men: Dark Phoenix (2019), X-Men: Dark Phoenix (Movie) Spoilers, definitely fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-05 02:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful
Summary: Three months after Charles has accepted the white pawn from Erik, they've finally settled down in Genosha, their home (until Charles chooses to return to Westchester, of course, but he doesn't seem to be in a hurry).But once the past has buried its fangs in its prey, it isn't prone to letting go easily, and the two men have to learn to live with their mistakes.





	Charles Xavier’s Cacti Collection on Erik Lehnsherr’s Gay Socialist Farm Island

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the first fanfic I've ever published, so please go easy on me ;).  
Many thanks to the amazing Ireliss for betaing this work!

When Erik wakes at the crack of dawn and reaches over, there’s no Charles-sized lump on the mattress beside him. Only a Charles-sized, rapidly cooling indention.

He finds his lover sitting in his wheelchair in front of the windowsill. The sun is already peeking timidly over the horizon, painting the telepath’s silhouette a dark pink against the Genoshan greenery outside. Erik thinks it’s a very beautiful sight.

Of course, it is. Finally, he has Charles Xavier where he wants him: by his side. At home.

Perched over a mismatched assortment of (some quite ugly) flower pots of various shapes, sizes and colors, Charles is tending to his collection of cacti and other succulents he’s amassed over the course of their road trip all across Europe. Erik still doesn’t know where he’s picked up some of them, since Europe isn’t most known for its native species of cacti. He suspects a certain upcoming Swedish furniture store though. Charles probably felt obliged to save at least a dozen of the plants constantly being kept under artificial lightning, with no fresh rainwater, und so weiter und so fort. It’s a side of Charles that Erik has known for decades now.

But it’s true that the cacti, lined up in neat rows in front of a Genoshan panorama and protected from the rough weather, bring some color into Erik’s home. It’s almost daily that Charles tries to convince him they’ve all grown at least an inch and gotten at least three shades greener, because of the sufficient sunlight and watering and all.

It’s only after Charles’ fifth attempt that Erik figures out just how much he’s really missed this side of the telepath.

With a groan, he gets up. Lately, he notices that he’s not quite as young as he used to be, and their late-night activities don’t help the matter. Not that he isn’t proud of the way Charles shifts unconsciously in his wheelchair when Erik slowly, with relish strolls up behind him. It’ll probably be a day or two until the effects of their _late-night activities_ fade, and he’s admittedly quite proud of his work. Even though Charles’ body doesn’t feel much of anything downstairs, it’s like his telepathy, his subconscious simulates the ache after a wild night, which Erik is willing to participate in because he knows he’s just good at it, and because Charles knows this, too.

_I heard that_, comes the absentminded answer, _Don’t sound so smug_.

“But it was good,” Erik insists. _And next time, I’d like to switch it up_.

_Whatever you want, just remember that it takes an awful lot of time for me to get, well, excited_, Charles sends him, along with the faint ghost of a smile when he turns his head for a quick moment, twisting around in his wheelchair.

The wheelchair, Erik had custom-made just for him. It’s light and ergonomic and high-quality work, just like all the building alterations Erik’s made to his ship-turned-house-turned-wheelchair-accessible-house. He knows it must have impressed Charles, even if he doesn’t show it.

_Stop boasting_, Charles tuts at him. _Don’t overdo it_.

But beneath it all, a feeling lays that confirms Erik’s suspicions. Hah. He knew it.

But now, he wants his love to pay attention to him, not to his collection of orphaned cacti. What are those even, a surrogate for his students at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters? Oh, he’ll get those back soon enough, but for the moment, he’s all Erik’s.

And that, Erik wants to make clear. Shirtless, he crosses the last feet of distance between Charles and him, bends down and buries his nose in the crook between Charles’ broad shoulders and his perfect neck. He breathes in.

_Perfection_.

_Now pay attention to me_.

“One moment… I have to water Jean first, and maybe repot her and Raven, too.”

If Erik were the type to use polite empty phrases, he would beg Charles’ pardon at that. Because he can’t be serious, right? Because he knows Charles isn’t the type to make morbid jokes, especially not about people who were close to him. 

Close to Erik, too, now that he thinks about it.

His slightly scandalised astonishment must have leaked through their telepathic link, now open 24/7, because Charles makes an aborted movement to shrink away, then thinks better of it and clears his throat.

“I… named them after students. And people I love, and care about.” He fiddles idly with one of the gardening gloves he always wears while tending to his plant fosterlings. “I know it sounds silly, but looking after them and actually seeing my care positively affecting them… It makes some things easier. I finally feel like I’m actually capable of doing something the right way.”

Erik can’t help it, he hurts for Charles, and what he’s been through. What all of them have been through, have had to endure. Sometimes, life just isn’t fair.

Charles’ telepathy must have picked up on this, too. Before Erik can say anything out loud, the telepath’s shoulders stiffen under his grasp. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. I already pity myself enough, there’s no need to be any more pathetic.”

It’s like a punch to the gut. Honesty is their most important goal since they swore to never part ways again, in the darkness of that exquisite first night in Paris. Erik has just forgotten how much it hurts sometimes, being honest to the bone. No one should feel like Charles does (well, except for some exceptions, there are _always exceptions_, but that’s of no importance right now).

Once upon a time, Erik might have been good with words. Suave, even, as though nouns and verbs and prepositions were metal. It seems the years have stripped him of this ability, and of so much more.

Instead of opening his mouth and putting his foot in it, he holds Charles tighter. Slots his chin under Charles’. Holds on for dear life.

Meanwhile, Charles has forced a cheerful note back in his voice. “_This_ is Raven.” He’s pointing at a formless gray blob sitting in a slightly wobbly pot made from Genoshan clay, probably a gift from one of the island’s children. Somehow, Charles possesses the talent of assembling a mutant brood wherever he goes. Erik is reminded of their very first months together, a bittersweet longing for the simpler, if more platonic times.

Now carefully picking up the Raven-succulent, Charles, ever the passionate scientist and know-it-all, continues with his explanations. “Don’t let the exterior fool you: it’s called a Living Stone, or Pebble Plant, for a reason. Lithops gracilidelineata’s South African origins entail an adaption to a dry desert environment, so in the dry season, they blend in perfectly with the ground to avoid being eaten. In the rainy season though, they grow the most beautiful flowers. Let me show you-” He pushes his head against Erik’s, just as nearly all the thirteen island cats do, and images bleed over from his mind to Erik’s, to unfurl their white, slender petals like fireworks in the night sky.

It’s breath-taking, magnificent. Just like Mystique.

“And _here_ we have Jean.” Drawing back from Erik’s consciousness to remain a buzzing, warm presence just at its fringes, Charles sets ‘Raven’ back on the windowsill, then tenderly encircles a glossy red but cracked mug with his hands. Embedded in its soil is a squat stem from which multiple slender tubercles protrude, giving it the shape of an octopus which has buried its head in the sand.

The green tubes spiralling upwards almost make it look like it’s frozen in a surreptitious movement. Like it didn’t want them to know it was alive. Yes, it _does_ resemble Jean.

“Astrophytum caput-medusae. It only grows in a single location in Mexico’s shrubland and is accordingly rare. I think it might even be an endangered species, so don’t ask me how that garden centre in Geneva came up with the idea to sell it when it’s probably illegal.” Charles, confused, pouts and curls his eyebrows in a way only he is capable of. If Erik thought that continuing to fall in love with his Professor X was impossible, this habit proves him wrong over and over again.

_Thank you, darling_, seeps into his consciousness, accompanied by a squall of love so big it feels like Erik’s heart is about to burst. But then the flow ebbs and trickles off.

Charles has trailed off into a complete, almost petrified silence. He’s looking at the cacti (the cacti _he named after people he loved and who left him_) on the windowsill, his features absent. Only the whistles of the birds outside penetrate the hush.

If Erik were a less sensible person (and if it weren’t for the quiet sorrow insidiously flooding their mindlink), he would snort at the other man’s loss for words. Charles the telepath, who can’t help knowing everything about everyone, and who also can’t help letting everybody know that he knows everything about them. Charles the professor, the child prodigy who is right even when he’s wrong. Always so cocky and confident and in complete control.

Except for now, in front of the Genoshan sunrise. So small. So lost. And, for once, utterly defeated.

It’s a sight Erik would rather not see. It gets on his nerves. Forms a lump in his throat so it’s getting hard to breathe properly.

“You’ll always miss them, won’t you?” he asks.

“Of course.” A sad smile flits over Charles’ face as he places ‘Jean’ back amidst the other succulents. “If only I hadn’t-”

“Stop blaming yourself. It doesn’t do _any_ good.” Erik grips Charles’ shoulder tighter, lifts his head so he can look his lover in the eyes. “I’ve been there. Trust me.”

There’s a wet shine to Charles’ sky-blue irises. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t seek Erik’s gaze.

Exasperated, Erik points at a random cactus, one who is formed from thick lobes and has clusters of tiny spikes all over them. “So, what do you call this one?”

It takes Charles a moment to shake off his vegetative state. “Oh… Opuntia microdasys, also called Bunny Ears. This one’s a little arsehole, I must admit. No matter your intentions, as soon as you touch its spikes, they get stuck in your skin. And it’s a real struggle to remove them, trust me, I’ve been there more than once.”

He hasn’t answered Erik’s question, and he’s done so by choice. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Erik pushes, mouth back under Charles’ jaw where he knows he’s the most sensitive, “Come on, what’s its _name_?”

“Erik.”

Erik pulls back. Either he misheard, or Charles has just addressed him by his name to tell him-

“No.” A vehement shake of his head. “I named the cactus after _you_. _Erik_. Because it always hurts the people who love it the most and just want to help.”

It’s Erik’s turn to be stunned.

It’s true, what Charles said. They both know it’s true, they _do_. But… And there’s no ‘but’, no excuse, no subterfuge. He always manages to hurt the people he loves the most.

Where to with his hands? He must have stood up in his stupor, his back now set straight, but should he just let his hands rest on Charles’ shoulders? Or should he move away, turn around, give the telepath some privacy with his memories? Does Charles still want him here?

Charles makes the decision for him. “But-” he bends down in his wheelchair, away from Erik’s touch, and retrieves a pair of thick gardening gloves – “I’ve learned how to handle it and we get along quite well now.” Undeterred by Erik’s prolonged stupefied silence, he puts on the gloves, reaches for ‘Erik’ and pulls it from its battered metal pot (the one he had Erik carve a flurry of tiny hearts on, the metalbender notes). He seems to be controlling the growth of its roots and the dryness of the soil, careful not to break off any of its lively green lobes.

Erik takes a deep breath. Outside, the sun is just sending its first ray over the horizon, kissing the Genoshan landscape awake. He begins to massage Charles’ neck and shoulders gently, earning himself an appreciative groan.

“Charles.”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

For once, there’s no bite in Charles’ chuckle. Just deep, honest joy. “I know, dear.”

He returns the stubborn cactus named Erik onto the windowsill to the others, then leans his head back into Erik’s belly to smile up at him with delight. His eyes sparkle in the laugh lines surrounding them.

“I love you, too.”

“Please.” Erik didn’t feel like smiling. “If you can forgive me-”

“Don’t. Don’t keep blaming yourself,” Charles hums, face upside down, blinking up at Erik like a lazy cat in the summer sun. His lips split in a sly smirk. “I’ve been told it does no good, and I trust that advice.”

Erik has no words.

“Now stop gaping like a fish and bend down here to kiss me,” Charles purrs, and promptly reaches up to grab Erik’s neck and do the job himself.

And Erik complies and goes down.

When the sun has finally climbed over the jagged treetops and is bathing their bedroom in a mellow glow, they are back under the covers, a tray with their breakfast between their naked bodies. On the windowsill, Charles’ cacti collection sits and thrives while their caretaker steals the occasional proud glance at them. It promises to be a good day.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Charles refrains from sipping his tea. “Hank will come by with the Blackbird around noon to drop off Peter Maximoff. The young man is part of the X-Men, and you might remember him from the Pentagon prison break.” He pauses to fork up some scrambled egg. “And… he was with us in Cairo. You know, that time you… well. Anyway, he would like to have a chat with you.”

The hyperactive kid who constantly dragged that cassette player around? Yes, Erik remembers him vividly.

“Talk to _me_? Why would he-” 

Everything clicks into place. The half reproachful, half worried look Charles gives him. The boy’s casual remark in the Pentagon’s elevator, about a guy his mother once knew. His reason to fight one of Erik’s biggest mistakes down in Egypt.

_Family_.

“Ah. I think I understand.”

If he’s honest with himself, he has to admit that he’s long since put two and two together. He’s just been too much of a coward to act on his knowledge, to stop himself from hurting a potential loved one. Again.

Yes. Erik is a coward.

_If you are a coward_ – Charles abandons his tea for good now and takes Erik’s hand in his – _then so am I_.

_Why?_

_I lied. And not to protect the ones I care for, but to not bruise my own ego. So, I’m a coward._

_If you say so. _Erik can’t help grinning. Utter fools, the both of them. But now that they’ve finally come to an agreement, finally have met in the middle, they might just make it work.

_Then let’s be cowards together._

Only two hours later, the hum of a powerful engine makes the air tremble, and Erik can feel a change in the magnetic fields around him. It’s the Blackbird touching down on the Island’s shore.

_They’re early. _Charles, now impeccably dressed, looks up from jotting down notes about a particularly intriguing article in a science journal. _Your visitor is here, but Hank will stay with the jet. I don’t think he’s particularly eager to see either of us two. Probably won’t be for quite some time to come. _Of course, there’s regret laced with his thoughts. Hank was one of his closest confidants for decades, after all. But there’s a budding hope, too, the hope for forgiveness and reconciliation.

_Always the optimist, Charles_. Erik unfurls his powers, sends them out across rusty bicycles and dutiful wristwatches and lost change lying in the grass until they surge against a large aerodynamic hull of metal. It’s sleek, well-built, purrs at Erik’s touch like a mellifluous housecat- until something else catches his attention. There.

One body, no, two bodies. Erik can feel the iron pulsing through their veins, hot and alive. Then, one of the two leaves the jet, starts moving towards the path through the woods and Genosha laying at its end.

Erik’s heart rate picks up as he dries off the last of the cutlery, then his hands, and places the towel on its rack with finality. He’s dressed in some of his better clothes for the occasion, he’s prepared. Still, his palms are damp.

Charles gives him a smile, brilliant, confident, encouraging. _Go on, welcome him to your island_. Wheeling around, he moves to clear the coffee table of his academical clutter. _I’ll be with you in a moment_.

Erik smiles back. Then, he turns and steps outside, facing the edge of the trees. Stray dew drops still sparkle on the grass like fallen stars, the sky stretches clear and blue and infinitely wide over his head.

It promises to be a good day. A new day. A new beginning.

And a new chance to, for once, get things _right_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you've discovered an error (be it the spelling, the grammar, or just something that rubs you the wrong way, both in the literary and in the factual sense), leave a comment. Of course, comments that contain none of these tips are very much appreciated as well!  
(Fun fact: naming a cactus after Erik was inspired by one of my own houseplants. I had at least three spike incidents with it.)  
Have a lovely day <3


End file.
